


Cover my eyes, cover my ears

by Krystalicekitsu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_gabriel_sam, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Team Free Will, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 10:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2384432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/Krystalicekitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel's wings are injured during an unexpected interlude to a safely concluded hunt, and Sam takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original was written for [](http://spn-gabriel-sam.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://spn-gabriel-sam.livejournal.com/)**spn_gabriel_sam** 's Tag Fic War. Life shat on me in spectacular ways and my flist grew so big that I only noticed the prompt because a friend linked me the original story. *facepalm*

Sam doesn't see it happen. Not really.

One minute they're taking a small breather after a particularly vicious ghost, the next Meg and a bunch of demons are pouring into the dilapidated three-bedroom shack that used to be a house. Sam manages to kill two before Ruby’s- _his_ knife is ripped from his hands painfully.

Gabriel is across the room from him, fighting as best he can, but yesterday’s ‘encounter’ with Zachariah and last week’s ‘meeting’ with the fallen archangel Remiel drained him more than he'd let on. Sam can see him weaving in and out of the figures across the room, a deadly dance he'd witnessed dozens of times before. Only this time, the archangel is slower, moves less precise and not as efficient.

Sam knows that Gabriel is more tired than he let on, but one ghost he should have been able to handle. Not _sixteen demons_.

Sam keeps fighting, lashing out with fists and feet, long limbs carrying weight and force to his actions. He feels the remnant of the demon blood simmering in him, like a pot of water set on embers, at the nearness of so many demons. He’s not using those dying embers, but he can't help the way they spike every time he lashes out, adding extra damage to every hit.

He can't even find it in him to care when suddenly the light flashes from across the room stop, and Gabriel’s voice is ripped from him in a whimpering, pain filled shout.

He doesn't have enough power anymore to exorcise, for which he’s eternally grateful. But he does have enough to _hold_. And without conscious thought, he’s doing that.

He’s doing that to _five_ demons, his head pounding in vicious, angry snarls.

Without thinking, he’s scooped up the knife the demons dismissively dropped and dives in. Three drop with gaping second mouths carved in their throats, the fourth gets the blade driven up through her jaw and into her brain. He turns with intent and pulls the last onto the knife he’s holding to his hip. With a vicious snarl, he jerks the knife up from under the bellybutton until it catches on sternum where he pulls it out with a harsh jerk.

He never remembers crossing the room, or killing five of the nine demons around Gabriel. Never gains back the face of the demon that strikes him down, ears ringing and blood mingling in his mouth.

He comes back to himself crouched over Gabriel, body coiled tight enough that he can feel his muscles protesting. Comes back with the clear intent to rip someone’s hand off.

If the hand hadn’t been Castiel’s he probably would have succeeded.

Sam’s panting raggedly as Castiel murmurs softly to him. It’s low and soothing, non-threatening, and Sam shakily lets go of the angel’s wrist with a gasp, the deep red fingerprints disappearing after a moment.

“Sam?” he hears Dean calling to him from across the room. He turns to look at his brother, gaze dragging over familiar features and hates what he sees.

Dean is against the far wall, nearly pressing into it, hesitation lurking behind his eyes. The table frame underneath his hand creaks, his knuckles turning white.

He averts his eyes. The fear and- and- It’s too much.

His dropped gaze finds Gabriel beneath him, blood clotting in a sickening smear across his face, and the strangeness of that has him fighting back panic. _Gabriel hasn't healed himself_. He can feel Castiel almost vibrating where he keeps his distance, but he’s wholly occupied as he checks Gabriel- _his lover_ \- for injuries.

His smaller body is half curled on itself, left side presented up to Sam, and he runs gentle, exploring fingers over arms and legs, chest and head. He cards fingers through that odd blond/gold/whiskey hair. He’s so far discovered a multitude of small scrapes and cuts, a few bruises blooming hotly on the skin.

He passes a hand over the archangel’s back and jerks when it comes away fully red.

Castiel stills into immovable marble.

He puts his hand down again, checking carefully. There’s no rip in his clothes, no tear in either jacket or shirt. And yet the blood is still wet, still there. Way more than an archangel should be giving up. And when he pulls a dark feather from under Gabriel's side, half covered in blood, Castiel stands up abruptly.

“Sam,” there’s no hesitance or soothing tones in his words now, “bring him to the sofa.”

And the lack of _anything_ in Castiel's tone makes him comply without argue.

He settles his lover as gently as he can on the lumpy sofa with dubious stains. Castiel glances at him in approval when Gabriel’s stretched out on his stomach.

Now that he can see more clearly, it’s easy to infer what Castiel did. The ever widening streak of red starts just below where Gabriel's shoulder blade is and extends parallel to his spine for six or seven inches.

Wing.

His _wing_.

The bastards got his wing.

Sam’s suddenly furious again and he sends a heated glare to the bodies laying in the dining room. He should have killed them slower. Hell, he should have killed them _slow_. Period.

But he didn’t. And he doesn't have the time, because Gabriel’s in trouble, _damnit_

Castiel’s kneeling next to his brother by the sofa, and it’s only the knowledge that Castiel would never hurt his brother and pure will power that stops Sam from flinging the angel away. Castiel finishes whatever he was murmuring, and Sam gasps in a move he hears echoed by Dean.

The air ripples like water swirled on the surface of a pond, like pale blue flames, and then inky feathers, tipped in gold starlight flow from his back. They ripple as if a mirage, not there one moment, and then suddenly taking up space the next.

His left wing is glowing magnificence, powerful and elegant where it’s half folded over the back of the couch. One wing has to be at _least_ as tall as Sam. Heck, he thinks it’s almost twice his height. He wonders how he could have missed that.

“Sam,” Castiel is addressing him and he looks over to the angel even as he’s staring holes into Sam’s brother, “Tend to his wing. Dean and I will ward the house.”

Sam feels his mouth gape, because, yeah, ok, he can be a little protective, but _it’s a wing_. More than that, it’s _Gabriel’s_ wing. And why couldn't he just heal it him-

“An angel’s wings are not corporeal but for a fraction of a hundredth of a second before we leave a place,” he turned his intense gaze on Sam, “Our wings are very sensitive and delicate.”

Sam gave the powerful length of muscle and feathers a doubtful look. Right.

But then… he could also see the damage done to his right wing. How, close to the base, the feathers were matted in congealing blood, feathers out of order, quills a rumpled mass. He only thinks how painful that must be.

Castiel continues talking to him, even as he crouches down next to Gabriel, ghosting his hands over the broken wing, “I doubt he'd let either Dean or myself close enough to help once he awakes, and the feathers must be cleaned and straightened if they are to heal.”

Sam feels himself blush at that, and ducks his head. He lets a fingertip gently run along the edge of an undamaged pinion. It’s softer than silk.

“He can't be moved until his wing is healed. I’m not sure how severe it is, but moving him now will undoubtedly be very painful.”

“Sam,” Castiel makes sure he’s looking, “when he wakes, don’t stop touching him until he speaks to you.”

Sam furrows his eyebrows, opens his mouth-

And Dean and Castiel are gone.

Great.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam’s been kneeling next to the couch for a while now. He’s not hesitating, not nervous, not _afraid_. Not of Gabriel.

Except, maybe, he is.

Because Sam remembers one night of serious magick at the hands of a vicious Lucifer-worshiping coven. The spell had been primal and brutal. Rending. Gabriel had taken the brunt of it, Castiel to a lesser extent.

He remembers Castiel bodily shoving him and Dean out the motel door, catching horrific strobes of an archangel’s flesh trying to pull itself apart, and harsh flashes of grace trying to heal. Remembers Castiel’s voice raised from behind a locked door, the unearthly noise, a fight between giants, painful noises from before Creation. And then nothing.

So, yes. He’s kinda nervous.

But Gabriel’s face is tight with pain where he’s half buried on the couch. Castiel’s spell dissolved- melted- _whatevered_ his coat and shirt off, and the tense line of his bare shoulders is enough.

Slowly, hesitantly, Sam reaches out. 

He only has enough courage (‘ _Or stupidity_ ,’ he thinks) to graze the line of one of Gabriel's primaries. When the archangel doesn't so much as twitch an eyelash, Sam feels brave enough to press more firmly, curling gentle fingers through the soft quills. There’s a twisted edge under his fingertips and without thinking about it, he’s tugged and rearranged the errant feather back to its place.

And pauses at the small, relieved sigh that Gabriel makes when he does it again. Sam twitches another feather back into place, watching as the golden starlight almost _oozes_ out of the newly groomed feathers.

Before Sam knows what’s happening, half of Gabriel’s wing is groomed to glowy starlight. His fingers are buried in the soft feathers underneath the coverts, and Gabriel is stirring under his hands. There’s the flash of _nobadwrong- hand caught in the cookie jar_ , instinctual now for a good portion of his life since he started this whole fucked up mess. His hands start to slide away, but the coal wing under his hand stretches, and _twitches_ , feathers ruffling in all directions, puffing out like a country game hen-

And oh, if Gabriel ever caught him thinking that, he probably be singing Mariah Carrie for a month.

But he stills his hand in the mass of feathers. Which is suddenly hard to do, when they're moving from under your hands. He feels like he should make grabbing motions, stay connected to Gabriel's wings- 

-they had been so _warm_ and tingly, like an electric hum from your favorite electric blanket.

He settles his hands on Gabriel's thighs instead. Staring into eyes the color of soft butterscotch (funny how anyone else would have made him say ‘amber’), he cant help the wayward thought that they've been in almost this exact position before. He squishes it firmly before Gabriel picks it up and decides to play with it. Just something you learn when your lover’s an all powerful archangel who’s been playing fast and loose with the rule book for a few millennia. Oh, and then there’s the whole ‘Trickster’ thing. Can't forget _that_.

Gabriel’s still staring at him and Sam realizes he’s stalling.

“Gabriel?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid of startling the large, deadly, and decidedly unpredictable thing in the room. And he is (well, two outta three, but still). 

The archangel doesn't so much as blink at him, eyes unfocused at some imaginary spot. Sam doesn't bother to try again.

…

He’s still staring. And, God help him, Sam’s staring right back.

…

Shit.

Sam’s got no idea what to do with this. What the hell was Castiel thinking? Leaving a damaged archangel with him. Like he knows the _first_ thing about angelic first-aide. Sam knows what to do for wounded humans. Just not anything else.

Gabriel gasps.

Which isn't entirely accurate. He actually sucks in a breath of air.

It’s soft and delicate, and some portion of it is surprised but there’s unmitigated relief and a plea tacked on to the end of it. Pleading for-

Huh. When did he start grooming Gabriel again? And he really should be more careful with how hard he tugs on the secondaries, and the tertiaries especially. But Gabriel is humming in a pleased sort of way, so Sam’s pause of surprise is only long enough to accommodate the knee-jerk ‘huh?’ reaction. It really doesn't take long before he resumes his- his- whatever the hell he’s doing.

He thinks he might be _grooming_ Gabriel. Great. Dean’ll _never_ let him live this one down.

And he'd stop, really he would, but Gabriel is almost purring under his hands, and a thrill creeps on spider legs up Sam’s spine. There’s a _power_ in this, holding an archangel’s wings in your hands, being the one to cause such sounds.

Sam watches, hands buried in Gabriel’s wings, pressed against the knees before him, barely a hair’s breadth away from golden eyes and-

Gabriel sighs when he leans that final inch in, slanting lips together, pressing inward, but keeping it chaste. He doesn't move- Gabriel. Doesn’t lift arms around him, or lean forward. Just lets him press closer. Which so isn't Gabriel.

Sam make a low noise of disappointment and worry, tightening his grip in feathers and flight down as he fights for balance in the odd position. His hunter instincts flare for a moment at the lack of balance, the exact instance that Gabriel leans forward with wings.

His left wing is nearly wrapped completely around Sam before the hunter realizes what’s happening. He wants to say this is-

Oh, hell. Gabriel himself is unexpected. Everything after that is just mild shock.

He leans in again, carding fingers through the soft under-down. Gabriel hums into his mouth. And tries to lick Sam’s tonsils out of his throat.

Sam has no idea how this turned from ‘care for Gabriel’ to ‘fuck the angel’. But Gabriel is doing obscene things with his tongue and Sam’s dick is demanding more attention that it’s currently getting. The small part of Sam’s mind that isn't screaming ‘ _yes! Sex! Yes, yes, yes!_ ’ is wondering why Gabriel sounds disappointed when he whines into his mouth.

And then Gabriel’s hands are on his back, and he arches into it, those fingers and the warm heat of his palm. He hums when Gabriel digs fingertips into the hollow of his spine, whines himself when fingers run up and down his ribs. He hisses, though, when Gabriel all but tears the skin at his shoulder blades.

“Gabriel, wha-,” but the archangel hushes him silent when he curls hands into Sam’s shirt and rips it apart just below his neck. Hands scrambling, searching, digging in frantically, smoothing over his back, his ribs, his ass, once to his chest, but always, frantically, to his shoulders.

He seems lost, or frightened, even though the ‘are you hurt? Are you injured? Are you alright?’ ritual is a familiar one but Gabriel keeps-

Oh. _Oh._

Gabriel can't find his wings.

Which would makes sense, because he doesn't have any.

But this fact either doesn't occur to his lover, or he’s so out of it, he’s expecting wings anyways. Which, okay, Sam can admit, would be awesome.

But he’s still human.

“Shhh, Gabriel, it’s alright. Everything’s okay. It’s alright I've got you,” and he puts away thoughts of getting laid to focus on calming his lover down. A decision his dick is screaming at him for.

He focuses on the battered mass of feathers then, hoping that if he can straighten them out he can bring Gabriel back to himself. The fingers on his back tighten up, and the archangel under his hands arches up into him for a moment as his fingers start teasing the mess back to normal. 

He’s only gotten three-fourths of the feathers reordered when Gabriel stops making noise like he wants to fuck Sam until he can't walk for a week. Hands at his elbows tug gently and Sam stops as asked, but almost sighs when hands return to his shoulder blades.

He was almost done, and if Gabriel’s going to stop him every time he tries to fix this, it’s going to be forever before they ge-

“ _Heylel_ ,” Gabriel whines in his ear. And Sam-

Sam stops. Stiffens. He knows that word. That _name_. He’s been reading up, trying to find a way to stop what he’s started, a way to defeat Lucif-

Gabriel’s looking up at him with growing horror. Sam doesn't know what he’s feeling right now, isn't even a little bit clued into what his face is showing Gabriel. Whatever it is, it’s huge, states large, heavy and oppressive. It should crush him.

He’s sure he’s relieved Gabriel’s come back to himself, but it’s lost in the overwhelming weight of this emotion.

“Sam. _Sam_ ,” and this time Gabriel's pleading with him.

He feels his face move, but he’s still not sure what emotion he’s wearing. Whatever the twitch of muscle shows, Gabriel looks broken. 

There’s a sharp flare among the morass he’s feeling. He’s able to identify it as sadistic joy. He’s not sure when he got across the room, five feet from Gabriel, but he’s aware of the difference when Gabriel stands, and moves towards him.

One step, and Sam matches it with one in retreat.

Gabriel’s wings are mantling and twitching in an almost constant wave of agitation, and he takes another step closer, which Sam again matches.

“I didn't- Sam, it’s not- I wouldn’t-.” Sam didn't think Gabriel would plead for anything. Another emotion separates itself and it’s bitter.

Heylel. The name God gave Lucifer before he was cast down.

“Sam. You know I didn't mean that. I don't think-,” Sam can't take it anymore, this huge overpowering emotion.

“I know.” And it’s neither sure, and loving, nor snapped and short with bitter fury. 

It’s blank. And something in that cracks Gabriel further.

Sam’s tired of that look. So when Gabriel hesitantly steps forward again, he lets him reach his side. Gabriel stops and Sam stares at him. There’s no hesitation when Gabriel’s arms come up and wrap around him, none when he buries his face into Sam’s chest and none when he whispers ‘I'm sorry’ into the fabric.

The blimp that had been inflating inside his chest springs a leak, and Sam’s glad when he sighs and palms Gabriel's hip.

It’s not like he had not known. Gabriel and- _Lucifer_ had been close once. He'd explained that himself. Had said that one of the largest reasons he left Heaven was he couldn't stand to see Michael belittle his brother when it was easy to see the betrayal and pain lurking underneath. He couldn’t be supportive of Michael and his decision when it cost him one of his closest brothers. Was incapable of watching his other beloved brother simultaneously beat himself up for the act and rage against the one he'd loved.

Gabriel’d been unwilling (almost violent, in fact) when Sam asked for more information. A dream with Lucifer goodies and hints and nudges followed by a few well placed accusations were enough for Gabriel to reveal that they'd been lovers.

In his worst moments, Sam wonders if Gabriel isn't replacing his brother with his brother’s vessel.

With a soft sigh, Sam nudges Gabriel until the archangel is once again resting on the couch, legs crossed under him, back to Sam where he'd chosen to kneel on the lumpy brown thing.

He starts carding his fingers through the blood and broken quills, shattered shafts.

Gabriel shifts like he wants to look over his shoulder.

He settles back down, and Sam’s fingers resume their grooming.

It’s silent for a long time.


	3. Cover my eyes, cover my ears

“Aw, come on, Cas! Just let me-“

“No.”

“It’s Sammy, and-”

“No.”

“Wings! And if Gabriel-”

“ _No_ , Dean,” and really, the look isn't any different than any of the others he’s gotten after that fiasco in the barn, but he knows the undercurrent here is ‘ _you’re not getting something angelically important, and if you continue with whatever it is you're doing, you'll make a huge ass of yourself and you won't get any for a month. A **month** , Dean._’

Dean wants to glare at the obstinate angel, but in addition to getting him nowhere, his crazy angel probably considers it foreplay. Which, is, ya know, weird (but would explain why his personal space is always ignored after such a display).

“Why the hell not?” he might not get whatever it is Cas is trying to say, but it doesn't stop him from being angry. Angry he can do. Angry he gets.

“Because your brother and my brother need time,” and damn him if he won't say more than that.

Dean fights the childish urge to drag his paintbrush across his- the! _the_ angel’s cheek. For about five seconds.

Cas turns and regards him with an unimpressed expression. It had been one of the first he'd mastered and Dean thinks it’s probably to do with the fact that it moves about as many muscles as blinking confusedly at him and the eye scrunch does.

Emotions suitably displayed, he returns to painting wards.

Dean scowls and looks at the porch door seven feet to his left. He could do it. Not like it’s a huge distance and-

Cas is suddenly on his left, painting not two feet from the door. Dean scowls and glances to his right-

Yep. The ass left two symbols unfinished just to ruin Dean’s night.

“I just wanted to see his wings,” Dean mumbles to the cracked and dissolving wood before him, finishing a demonic ‘fuck you’ symbol with an angry swipe.

And blinks at the starlight and gold fluffing delicately in the wind in front of his face.

“Cas-?” he follows the line of gold and bronze feathers to his friend.

Cas gives him a soft quirk of his lips before going back to painting.

Dean grins and applies warding faster.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam’s getting frustrated. He’s had to pull out two secondaries- which Gabriel had _not_ been happy about, but the shafts were completely shattered, and leaving them attached was just _asking_ for infection- and the ones left are twisted in a way that Sam’s half convinced are going to need pulling, too. The battered mass of down is relatively unscathed, and the damaged feathers here had a habit of coming out with the least amount of pressure. But it didn't seem like the injury ever _ended_.

He has no idea when he'd started, but the mess seems just as big as it had then. And it’s pissing him off.

Gabriel shifts in his seat when Sam tugs on a rebellious secondary covert. He’s going to say something again, Sam knows it. And Sam really doesn't want to talk about it.

“Sam…”

Doesn’t. Want. To. Talk.

He twists and jerks harshly to remove a broken scapular and Gabriel jerks forward and growls at him.

Doesn’t. Want. To. Talk.

“If you’d-”

Damn. He can’t find another broken feather.

“-let me finish, I could apologize.”

Ha! _Twist, jerk._

Gabriel hisses and something wood cracks. Sam stops and peers around the bulk of Gabriel and his mass of feathers. Part of the wood frame on the couch is missing a huge chunk.

Sam goes back to cleaning.

“I’m sorr-”

Yes, he probably could've- _should’ve_ been more delicate with the down, but he rationalizes that the mess was drying and trying to be delicate would've likely hurt more. But Gabriel's shout clued him in faster than one wing snapping back to fling him against the arm of the couch that he’d _hurt_ Gabriel.

He’d intentionally _hurt_ one of the few people in the world right now who loved him and didn't blame him. Probably the _only_ person who understood him. And the guilt wasn't that he was alienating an ally. It was that he had _tried_ to hurt. _Intentionally_.

And then Gabriel was on him, a hand at the base of his throat, not threatening, but holding, matching the one pressing over his heart. His wings were flared out, right one slightly hunched, but still awe inspiring. Still fierce and threatening. Gold eyes luminescent, guilty and angry.

“Look, I get it, alright? I screwed up. You don't want to be with me anymore, fine. Whatever,” the look in his eyes said it was anything but, “But I’m gonna apologize and you’re gonna sit right here and _listen to me_ you stupid, obstinate, Winchester, because I have something to say.”

He took a deep breath and broke eye contact for a moment. When he looked back, he looked resigned and bitter and hurt and guilty. Carefully hidden behind all that was fear.

“I’m sorry.”

Sam scowled, wrapped arms and legs around Gabriel, _turned_ and scrambled up once he and the archangel rolled over the side of the couch. He was up and nine feet away by the time Gabriel got to his feet.

“Fine, whatever. I get it, you’re _sorry_ ,” Sam was breathing so fast it almost hurt, but it was better than freaking out. He did _not_ want to have this conversation.

Because this conversation had a foreboding feeling to it. A hint that it might touch on things best left alone.

“I don't care that you and Lucifer had sex. Fine. Whatever. Just don't treat me like some sort of stand-in until you get the real thin-,” and the sad thing was, Sam couldn't bring himself to believe anything _other_ than that. Why else would Gabriel be interested in his brother’s vessel?

“That’s _not_ why I’m here!” the house shook for a moment. Gabriel looked like he'd rather the house kept shaking, but he reigned in his control.

“That’s not why I'm here,” Gabriel took a deep breath, “and you're not a stand-in for him.”

“Right,” Sam has to look away. It’s bitterness in his tone, but not on his face.

“Heyl- Lucifer used to groom my wings when I was injured. He and Michael were the only ones who would,” Gabriel appears next to him, and Sam jerks away.

“Fine, I get it. Case of mistaken identity,” and it _is_ bitterness on his face this time.

Gabriel growls something about obtuse mortals as Sam wanders over towards the couch, away from Gabriel.

“I just don't understand why you're _here_ if you love him so much,” still bitter, but it’s the honest truth.

And the thing is, Lucifer doesn't get it either. He'd offered Gabriel the same choice he'd offered Castiel, but with more perks. And Gabriel’d told him where he could stick it. To say the devil’d been shocked would be an understatement.

Gabriel growls at him, seconds before he launches himself at Sam, hands tangling in shirt and jacket, flinging them both into the couch. It skids over hardwood for a moment as Sam brings hands up to grip Gabriel's arms in reflex.

There’s almost no space between them when Gabriel shouts, “Because I don't love him, I love _you_ , you idiot!”

And Sam blinks.

And blinks again.

And suddenly he laughing.

He’s so- _something_ he can't stop laughing, because he'd been sure it'd be _him_ admitting something stupid and improbable and impossible.

But it wasn’t.

And Sam reaches up to grip Gabriel's face in his hands before he gets the wrong idea. Only it might be a little too late, because Gabriel's still like marble under his fingers. So Sam goes up to him instead.

“Good,” he murmurs into the archangel’s lips.

“Good, because I love you too,” and kisses him.

“Good?” Gabriel echoes, and blinks.

“Good.”

“Good,” Gabriel smiles a devious smile at him and kisses him back.


End file.
